In my own words
I hear the words, she won't declare, My mind ploys my heart, He utters not a vowel of love, His silence is an art. I dream of that vertable love, That taunts the virile mind, I seem to linger for his love, But, I espy not a sign. For, deep inside His stolen heart, Spread Jemima wings await, for His preferable woman to ride, For, I was much too late. I used to be timid of love, True love, I'd always shun, But, I have never found one. Its may be you. |
From Now On...
LOOKING FOR A RESPONSIBLE MAN |
